


I Won't Tell No One Your Name

by orphan_account



Series: Ryan never stopped looking [5]
Category: Bandom, Glee RPF, Hot Chelle Rae
Genre: M/M, coobin, the box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Nash, Nash,” he hears and Ry’s hands are on his face, turning him to look into those eyes that Nash knows as well as any in the world and it guts him again.  This thing with Ry is everything.  “Breathe, babe.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Nash nods and breathes out feeling Ry’s weight everywhere, always wanted, and breathes again.  “Sorry,” Nash whispers.  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Don’t be,” Ry says.  “Loving you sneaks up on me sometimes, too.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Of course he gets it, Nash thinks.  Ry understands everything before Nash says it, before he can even find the words, Ry knows.  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I still said it first,” Nash says.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Tell No One Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> These 7500 some odd words came about from another one of our chats or phone calls and this kind of conversation:
> 
> "What about when they say their first I love yous?" 
> 
> "Nash says it first." 
> 
> "YES."
> 
> "On it."
> 
> And then H was writing, totes on a roll, and continued to write. And write. And then we collaborated a little at the end of the first part, because it's difficult for J to keep her nose out of Ry's POV. And then H made J write an "answering" POV for Ryan. Which she called _Honestly_ at the time, because she was OBSESSED with the song even before it was released as a single, even though it had nothing to do with the story we were writing. ;)
> 
> This story is dedicated to the Goo Goo Dolls, Julie Overstreet and J's mom who both say "you're skating on thin ice", Jamie's box, and the coobin.

It’s done. The end of the Beautiful Freaks Tour 2012. Nash looks over at Ry and grins like a mother fucker. After all they’d gone through this year, Nash is looking forward to their downtime like no other and just being away from the damn spotlight. Nash pulls Ian up front while Ry runs around for Jamie and they all take their final bow together. 

The house lights come down and it’s just them and when Ry pulls them in, Nash follows until it’s the four of them, arms, grins and laughs. 

_Life’s good_.

***

_Two Weeks Later_...

Nash runs into the kitchen at the main house almost running Skye over but side-stepping her at the last minute and then zooming around Harley to walk over the door jamb. The house was fucking full to the brim with people running in and out. The band, crew, roadies, everyone had been invited out to celebrate a kick ass tour. 

Plus, its been two weeks since Nash has seen Ry and he’s chomping at the bit. He doesn’t hate Ry for wanting to spend time with his family but he misses the skinny fucker a lot. _A lot_.

Nash looks away from the kitchen window to see Amber strolling through and rubs his hands together.

“How you like Chez Overstreet, Ambs?”

“It’s busy,” she says, laughing.

“Sure is. But not usually this much.”

“It’s just like the Glee set or my house, too. I’ve got four sisters, ya know?”

Nash puts his arm around Amber and leads her over to the window. “Then we’ve got a fuckton in common already.”

They watch Chordy helping Paul set up lawn chairs and running things around for Julie, too, and Nash chuckles.

“This why you’re in here? So you aren’t runnin’ ragged like Chord?”

“You’re too smart for him,” Nash says. “Run away with me instead.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “I don’t think Ryan would be too happy about that.”

Nash freezes up for a second. He’s not used to being able to talk about Ry with practically anyone except maybe Chordy but it’s not like near the same as being able to ask advice and shit. 

“He’d be alright. He’s always talkin’ about adopting cocoa babies and this way we could keep it all in the family,” Nash says, bumping his hip against hers. 

“Oh yeah, Chordy’d be all for me being a surrogate for you two,” Amber says. 

“Is this where I say something about artificial insemination?”

She laughs again. Nash pulls her over closer and quietly watches out the window. 

“He supposed to be here soon?”

“Not soon enough,” Nash replies. “I could write songs all about waiting on Ry. Dude’s either doing his hair, coordinating (Nash makes air quotes when he says this) outfits, or petting his cat. Seriously, I could go on. But yeah, I could literally fill an album about waiting on Ry.”

“It’s cute. I think you guys are cute,” Amber says. 

Nash looks down at her and doesn’t see an ounce of teasing. “Yeah, that’s us: A couple fuckin’ cuties.”

“You are,” she says, this time bumping her hip to his. 

“You wanna git your hand off my girl?”

Nash looks over his shoulder and sees Chord leaning against the fridge watching them. Grinning wide, Nash tightens his arm around Amber. 

“We were having a _private_ conversation if you don’t mind.”

“Nash - “ Amber says.

“Just a minute,” Nash says to Amber and then directs his attention back to Chordy. “Ambs is running away with me so we can have cocoa babies.”

“Nash -” Amber says, again.

“Just a sec.”

“That so?” Chord asks while ambling over. 

“Yeah. We were discussing whether we’d do the turkey baster thing or just old fashioned gettin’ busy.”

“Nash!” This time, she grabs his face and turns his chin towards the window. “He’s here.”

It has literally been fourteen days since he’s seen Ry. They’re getting out of Jamie’s car and Ry has shades on. Harley, fucking shameless as always, is bum rushing them at the gate followed by Julie and Paul. Nash’s heart picks up when he sees Ry’s smile. He continues watching as the brothers Follese get their bags outta the car and Paul directs Jamie towards the house, and Ry towards Nash’s place. Nash counts out ten footsteps before he backs towards the door. 

“See you guys in a bit.”

****

Now it’s down to family and close friends to wait out, Nash thinks as they all head down towards the pond. Some are walking and some are riding the four-wheelers and Nash loses Ry in the crowd as he walks with Chordy and Amber.

Paul has the guitars on his four-wheeler, and Nash grabs his case off the back checking to make sure his girl is fine. Nash looks around and finds Ry sitting low on the ground with his back against one of the logs. Strolling over, Nash taps the toe of his shoe against Ry’s. “This seat taken?”

“Nope. Saving it for you,” Ry replies.

Nash sits down on the log. Checking the strings, he plucks one and then the next all the while looking down at the top of Ry’s head. Finally, Nash leans down and whispers. 

“This remind you of anything?”

Ry doesn’t answer but picks out the chorus of My Heart Will Go On and Nash laughs laying his fingers over Ry’s.

“Stop. If I don’t ever hear that fucking song again I’ll die happy.”

Ry’s fingers pick through another song and it’s Mraz. Nash’s gut tightens. Bracing his hand on Ry’s opposite shoulder, Nash leans down again, his lips brushing Ry’s ear. “You and me later.”

Barely hearing over people talking, Nash picks up the tune of ‘Let’s Get it On.’ Laughing again, Nash sits back up and lets his fingers travel over the strings until he and Ry join on a tune. 

Jamie comes running out from the crowd. “You dicks. You made me carry that box down here all by myself.”

“Big baby,” Nash says not looking up from his guitar but sees Jamie set up his box beside Ian. “Come on, Chordy!”

Nash sees Chordy across the fire sitting beside Amber shaking his head. “Oh hell no, this ain’t my night.”

They settle into Teenage Dream - a crowd pleaser - and Nash thinks how DCriss would love being in this crowd and makes a mental note for Chordy to bring the little shit out the next time he brings Ambs. They play five or six more songs before Ian calls for a beer. Paul walks four beers over and the boys take them. Ry settles back in between Nash’s legs making Nash almost drop his beer in surprise. Scooting his right leg over, Nash makes room and then taps his toe against Ry’s hip counting out a beat. 

‘Tonight, Tonight’ turns into ‘I Like it Like That’ and then ‘Keep You With Me.’ Again, Nash taps his foot against Ry’s hip. They’ve talked like this for years. Nash knows that’s how it works with lead singers and lead guitarists but since...yeah, since that, they’ve been more in tune and Ry knows what Nash wants to hear. Jamie puts his hands on the top of the box resting and Eee sits back drinking his beer as Ry taps out the beginning and Nash plays the first notes of ‘The Distance.’

[[Nash and Ryan - The Distance](http://youtu.be/TDkD8vphoVQ)] (our favorite version of this song ever; you're welcome. --H&J)

Echoing Ry, Nash ducks his head and closes his eyes just enjoying this moment where he can be himself with all the people he loves sitting around him. The last notes of the song die out and everyone claps. Nash opens his eyes to Chord standing up and crossing over. Nash raises an eyebrow when Chord does the gimme gesture. 

“Think you’re man enough?”

“Gimme, shithead.”

“Fine,” Nash says, laughing. “You scratch her and I’ll go ham on your ass.”

“I know, I know.”

Nash ducks his head through the strap and hands the guitar to Chord. Careful of Ry, Nash stands up. Walking over to where Chord had been sitting, Nash grabs a beer from the tub. Twisting the cap off, Nash settles in beside Amber. 

“Okay, Okay, Everyone!” Chord yells and makes the universal quiet down gesture. The crowd around the fire pit quiets and Chord sits down again. “So yeah, Ryan and I’ve been working on this the last two weeks.”

Nash whips his head over to look at Ry. He’s got his head tucked low over the guitar, adjusting the knobs at the end and testing the strings. Nash would love to call Ry out right now, but he just watches and listens. 

“And considering I’ve talked and Skyped more with him in the last two weeks than I have with Amber during the whole time we’ve been dating...Well, that’s saying something.”

The crowd around Nash laughs but he’s still looking at Ry willing him to look up. When he doesn’t, Nash looks over at Chord and finds his bro looking right at him.

“So, here we go. Nash, this one’s for you.”

Chord taps out a beat on the body of the guitar and together - simultaneously, like they’ve been doing this together for eight fucking years - they run their fingers over the strings. They pick their way through the note intensive lead in and Nash freezes. He knows this song. Kinda loves this song a lot. Ian played it when he was missing what’s her ass and they’d given him epic amounts of shit for pining away, but watching his brother and his....Ry is just about too fucking much. He wants everyone in this circle to fuck off to parts unknown so he can be alone with Ry right now. 

Nash watches as Ry finally lifts his head and looks. Across the fire, Nash can hear Ry’s perfect voice.

[[Goo Goo Dolls - Name](http://youtu.be/Ice7NydF7RM)]

“.....I still can’t turn away...”

They sing together - Chord and Ry - and their hands work together in time, but Nash can’t look away from Ry. And when the beat slows down and Ry sings, Nash breathes deep.

“I won’t tell no one your name.....and I won’t tell ‘em your name...”

Nash can feel Amber’s hand in his and he squeezes her fingers tight because he knows she gets it. She of all people knows what it’s like to be in love with a music man even if it is fuckin’ Chordy. 

And it hits Nash.

He loves Ryan.

He loves Ry.

Leaning into Amber, because Nash needs someone to be there. Ry’s across the circle and he can’t fucking touch him. Nash can feel the warmth of Amber’s arm behind his back, circling around and she leans in.

“They really have been working hard on this.”

He can’t talk so Nash nods. 

He knows that everyone fucking knows about them even though they’ve been careful and quiet about what they’ve got between them but this...this is not quiet or careful and it’s not something they’ve discussed. It just _is_.

And finally the last notes fade out and the crowd around the circle explodes in applause and wolf whistles - Amber with two fingers in her mouth makes a particularly good tweet and Nash is impressed in an abstract way - but his eyes are for Ry. 

Nash can feel everyone’s eyes on him but no one more than Ry. Setting his beer down, he levers up off the ground one-handed. Absently, he helps Amber up so she can walk over to Chordy. Slowly, very slowly, he walks around the fire pit towards Ry. 

“Beer and Dogs, come and get ‘em!” Paul Overstreet shouts from over by the grill. 

Nash has never been more thankful for his dad in his life. Everyone gets up and moves around and Nash picks his way through the group of people. Weaving in and out, it feels like an eternity to get to Ry, who is standing up minus his guitar now. Nash walks over and grabs Ry’s hand, pulling him away into the dark and everyone’s eyes. They end up on the other side of the coop. Nash whips Ry around, pushing him back against the wall. They’ve come at each other frantic and crazy late at night at the end of a show when everything was all about adrenaline and energy but this feels manic and crazy with his heart beating so fucking hard. 

Nash pushes his hands into Ry’s hair and frames his face, looking him right in the eye. Ry’s hands are cold on his back, his skin, pulling him closer and Nash follows. Nash always follows Ry’s lead but this time....

“You fucking drive me crazy,” Nash says. He’s trembling, both of them are. Nash can feel it in the tips of Ry’s fingers and he knows Ry can feel it in his hands, too. 

“Nash,” Ry says, softly. 

“Shut up.” Nash drops his forehead onto Ry’s shoulder because he does feel like he’s about ready to be sick or something with everything in his gut churning. Nash’s hands are still on Ry’s face, thumbs on his cheekbones, and he looks back up, eye to eye. 

“I know, Nash. I know,” Ry says.

“I don’t care if you know,” Nash replies. “One of us has to be the guy to say it first.”

Nash’s eyes scan Ry’s face looking for that thing he always sees that settles everything and makes his life make sense and then, he sees Ry’s lips tip up slightly. Leaning in, he kisses Ry, just brushing their lips together slowing the world down, his heart, to this. Nash leans back just slightly and smiles. 

“I love you,” Nash whispers. He doesn’t wait for Ry to say anything and leans in again kissing Ry harder this time. Nash’s hand drifts down between them settling on Ry’s heart. 

“Nash OVERSTREET!”

Freezing, Nash pulls his head back and looks at Ry as his mom hollers. 

“Ryan FOLLESE!”

Snickering, Nash leans in and kisses Ry again and nods for him to go off on the other side of the coop so they’re coming out of different spots. Just as he’s about to step back out into the light, Ry calls his name. Ducking back, he looks at Ry.

“I love you, too.”

Nash watches as Ry walks back out into the light. Counting to twenty, Nash steps out from the other side of the coop. Everyone - including his mom, front and center - is standing there. 

“Busted,” Chordy says just loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Oh fuck off,” Nash says.

“Nash Linden -”

“Yeah, yeah, Ma,” Nash says walking up and picking Julie off her feet in a bear hug. 

“ - Miller Overstreet,” Jamie and Ian finish for Julie and Nash flips them the bird behind his mom’s back. 

“Okay, Overstreet jam,” Nash says putting Julie down. Nash has a song in mind and it’s one that his mom’ll love, too. “Chord, tell Follese you’re stealing his guitar.”

“On it,” Chord grins and disappears into the crowd. 

“Okay, everyone, get your dogs and beers and settle your asses back down!’ Nash hollers.

“Nash!” Julie hollers back.

“-Linden Miller Overstreet!” Amber finishes.

“Listen, Riley, that’s enough of you,” Nash says, winking. 

“Mmmmhmmm,” Amber replies. 

Nash finds Paul a lawn chair as Chordy comes back with Ry’s and Ian’s guitars. Paul had taught them both the classics - or Overstreet classics anyway - and this was one of the first they’d learned. 

“Chordy, you’re singing,” Nash says, settling down on the log. 

“Deal.”

Paul taps out the beat on body of his guitar and Nash begins playing what would be the piano lead on Journey’s Faithfully. Chordy sings and just for a second Nash thinks about how fucking lucky he is to have the family, the brother, he has. And when it comes to “loving a music man ain’t always what it’s supposed to be” he looks for Ry. Together, their eyes lock across the fire as it comes to ‘I’m forever yours....faithfully.”

Yeah, life is pretty fucking good.

***

Nash waits till Ry’s outta the shower before hitting the play button on the remote to the Bose which includes a fuckton of schmoopy ass songs that Ian put together (he called it the ‘Train to Love Town Playlist’). It’s all Nash can do to keep a straight face while he lays in bed watching Ry. The first strains of the music play and Ry looks over at him from his suitcase.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“C’mon, baby,” Nash says. “It’s our song.”

“Gimme the remote,” Ry says holding out his hand.

“What for?”

“Just give it.”

“Come and get it.”

“Nash,” Ry says softly. And fucker, it’s not fair when he uses that voice ‘cause he knows it guts Nash. 

“Fine, fucker,” Nash says, tossing the remote over to Ry. 

Ry flips through the songs passing by Journey, Chicago, Usher, Jack Johnson and even their own voices until he gets to Mraz. Nash sighs. Yeah, if Nash had a pick a song that was them, he’d pick that song, too. 

Nash watches as Ry walks around the room turning off the lights one by one. Ry’s still in his towel so Nash can see practically everything except for what’s under the towel but he can still appreciate what he does get to see. The muscles in Ry’s back and shoulders, the tatts stretching on his arms as Ry reaches to turn off the lamp. Ry’s feet pad across the floor as he checks the lock on the door and Nash’s eyes travel from Ry’s feet up to his knees where the towel is brushing along as he walks. Finally, Ry turns back towards the bed, looking at the remote, pointing and hitting a button, and tossing it absently in a chair.

“Put it on repeat.”

Ry nods and knee crawls across the bed and Nash can’t think beyond need. Ry’s singing along quietly with Mraz as the music crescendos. 

“I had to learn what I got, what I’m not, and who I am...”

Nash rolls on his back and buries his hands in Ry’s hair as he sings against Nash’s lips. And then finally, finally, finally a kiss. Tender and sweet, just lips touching, brushing as the song starts over again. Nash’s hands move down Ry’s back until he finds the towel and pulls it off and tosses it aside. Trapped by the blankets, Nash can only move his knee up by Ry’s hip. Nash brings his arms back around Ry pulling them as close as they can be with the blanket between them. Nash can feel Ry’s hands on his face, in his hair, quietly touching like he does, like he always does in every part of Nash’s life, like he has since day one. Since day fucking one, he thinks. Nash turns his head; he can’t breathe again. 

“Nash, Nash,” he hears and Ry’s hands are on his face, turning him to look into those eyes that Nash knows as well as any in the world and it guts him again. This thing with Ry is everything. “Breathe, babe.”

Nash nods and breathes out feeling Ry’s weight everywhere, always wanted, and breathes again. “Sorry,” Nash whispers. 

“Don’t be,” Ry says. “Loving you sneaks up on me sometimes, too.”

Of course he gets it, Nash thinks. Ry understands everything before Nash says it, before he can even find the words, Ry knows. 

“I still said it first,” Nash says. 

“I know,” Ry says brushing Nash’s hair back. “But I always meant it.”

“Yeah, yeah, not looking away, fucker. I remember.”

Nash grins into the next kiss and the one after. Beyond that, he can’t remember more than Ry’s skin and kisses.

***

Nash rolls over in the middle of the night. He’d been dreaming. About what, he can’t remember. But when he bumps into a sleeping Ry, he wakes up all the way. Well as much as you can when you’re stuck between a dream and awake and in bed with your best friend. He’d woken to Ry a million times over the years they’d spent together in HCR and never once felt weird about it. It felt _more_ weird to wake up _without_ him. It’s dark and Mraz is still playing in the background somewhere, but he can see Ry. Nash tucks his hand up under the pillow, and bunches it up so he can see better. 

This is his favorite thing. 

He loves looking at Ry across a stage when everything is fuckin’ rocking out but no, this is a million times better. ‘Cause not everyone got to see Ry this way, too. He’d known about a few chicks over the years but does it matter now? Nope, not really. Because Ry is wearing out a spot in Nash’s bed, in his life, in his heart. That side of Nash’s bed will never be full of anyone else if he has his way about it. Not that he says that shit. He doesn’t. It’s not who Nash is. He can play songs for Ry or tell Ry that he drives Nash crazy, because he does, but he has a hard time with getting the words out. 

But maybe he can right now. 

Nash reaches his hand across the sheets until his fingers are lying over Ry’s heart. 

“Music made us what we are, yeah? Without HCR there wouldn’t be any of this,” he whispers, spilling out what’s in his heart. “And you? You’re always like that chord I can’t get right but still want to play it and understand why it sounds so good. You’re that for me, Ry. You’re it for me.” 

Nash leans up on his elbow, grabbing the sheet for balance, and bends over kissing Ry’s forehead, his cheek and then lingers for a second on Ry’s mouth.

Nash almost laughs when he feels Ry’s hand on his neck, holding him in place. Smiling into Ry’s mouth, Nash pulls back. “How much of that did you hear?”

Ryan’s eyes blink open and he smiles, rubbing his thumb lightly across Nash’s lower lip. He feels dazed. Drunk on Nash. “I... something about being _it_ for you?”

“You are,” Nash answers. It’s dark, the middle of the night and the perfect time for saying shit like this, Nash thinks. “You _are_.”

Waking up more fully, Ryan looks at Nash’s lips, then moves his thumb down just a little and presses gently into the shallow cleft of Nash’s chin. Looking back into Nash’s eyes, Ryan runs his other hand up the side of Nash’s neck and into the back of Nash’s hair, tugging gently. 

“I like it when you say nice things.”

“Yeah, well....” Nash trails off. “I’m not holding your Tumi at the mall anytime soon.”

Nash dips his chin, kissing Ry’s thumb and smiles. Ry should know by now to never pay attention to what Nash says because there are a million ways Nash says I love you every day without ever saying the words. 

“Whatever you say, babe.” Ryan clears his throat and swallows, working out the sleepy scruff in his voice. He lifts his head and pulls Nash down for a kiss. “Love you, too.”

*******

[So, this next part is pretty much scenes and missing scenes from above, but from Ryan's POV.]

Ryan sits on the piano bench with one leg crossed over the other propping up his guitar, his left ankle resting on his right knee. His writing notebook is next to him and a pencil with the end chewed on, but this is the kind of day that’s for just feeling the music, getting it right before he puts it down on paper or into the computer. He just spent the last hour skyping with Chord, going over the final touches on their arrangement of _Name_. Ryan wasn’t the hugest fan of the Goo Goo Dolls back in the day, but Nash loves all that 90’s grunge shit, and Ryan thinks they’ll kill two birds with one stone: he’ll be able to make a grand gesture for Nash, do the sappy love song thing without making it into a big deal, and bringing Chord into it means maybe Nash’ll lay off the kid for a while.

Ryan’s been half in love with Nash for a couple years now, it was so gradual it’s impossible to tell when it started, and there were times when he wanted to jump out of his skin with it. When he wanted to touch Nash, wanted to touch him way differently than knocking into him on stage or wrestling over the game controllers or playing basketball or even when they took naps on planes and snuggled like puppies. It made him want to crawl into his own bunk on the bus and not touch _anyone_ , rather than have to keep hiding how he felt. 

But he’d meant it when he told Nash that he didn’t say anything different that day than he ever did. The one place Ryan always felt free to express himself was in his words and in his music. So maybe he never said out loud how soft Nash’s lips looked, but he always said things like how singing with Nash felt like coming home. And Nash never asked him to explain what he meant until that day. They’d always joked about being married, married to the band, to each other, in the way that lead singers and lead guitarists had been since the beginning of time. Nash liked calling him baby and asking to spoon, and Ryan usually went along with it, when he could pretend he was pretending. And he’d decided it would be okay, not amazing, but _okay_ , if nothing ever changed, and Nash never knew. They’d always have the band, right? And their music, and he never wanted to think about a time when Nash wasn’t there, right by his side. 

So when Nash froze and stared at Ryan after he said ‘I never stopped looking at you,’ Ryan thought maybe everything was ruined. Standing across the room from Nash, not so far apart they had to raise their voices but far enough apart they could see all of each other. Nash’s voice had been practically a whisper, and nothing had ever hurt Ryan like Nash walking out of that room. Nash walking out on _him_. Thinking he’d lost the band, the music, the harmony, and his best friend all in one.

But he hadn’t lost any of those things, and now Ryan’s life is fuller and brighter than it’s ever been, and it’s all because of Nash. Ridiculous, beautiful Nash. Nash, whose lips are every bit as soft as they look, whose eyes get darker when he’s about to kiss Ryan, whose arms are strong when they hold Ryan, when they hold Nash up above Ryan, or when his hands cup Ryan’s face or run through Ryan’s hair. 

_Better not keep that train of thought going_.

He rests his guitar against the bench and walks over to the sink to pour a glass of water. He downs it standing there, adds ice, and refills, taking the glass back to the living room with him. He sets it down on the floor next to the piano and pulls out his phone.

SMS to NASHTY: thinking about you

Ryan smiles at his screen when the reply comes seconds later, before he’s even put his phone away.

SMS from NASHTY: Keep it in your pants, follese. 3 more days.

And then, after a full minute.

SMS from NASHTY: miss you too.

Grinning big as fucking anything, Ryan slips his phone into his back pocket and picks up his guitar again.

***

Traffic had been a complete clusterfuck, but finally they’re at the farm. Ryan had let Jamie drive when they started out but made him pull over to get gas they didn’t need twenty minutes ago, because Ryan couldn’t sit still anymore. Jamie’s taking out his earbuds and opening the passenger door, but Ryan’s just looking out the front of the car, looking for Nash. Harley runs up barking, and Ryan opens his door to greet the dog, followed by Paul and Julie. He hugs them both and leans down to scratch Harley behind the ears, aching with how much he needs to see Nash’s face.

As he moves through the house, he sees Nash out of the corner of his eye while Harmony is asking about his cats, and then again when Amber and Chord are talking about how much fun they’d had on set earlier in the day. 

And now everyone’s moving out to the lake. It’s impossible for Ryan to not remember late winter down here with Nash, whisky and a fire, and sleeping bags.

He goes over to sit down against a log. It’s not their spot, but he can see it from here. But now Nash is walking over with the guitars, and Ryan can’t look anywhere else. He can’t. Half of Nash’s face is lit by the fire, and half is in shadow, and Ryan can’t tell what Nash is thinking, but he can guess.

Nash hands over Ryan’s guitar and sits down on the log out of Ryan’s sight now, except his legs and shoes. Ryan wants to snuggle into Nash, but thinks maybe now isn’t the right time, and he loves being with Nash’s family and all their friends, but he just really wants it to be the right time _right now_.

So Ryan starts playing, thinking he can say what he wants to say without having to say anything really. 

He’s just picking at his guitar, notes that don’t mean anything yet, and he still can’t see Nash, just Nash’s ridiculous bright purple shoes, but he can tell Nash is moving before he can even feel the breath on his ear, against the side of his neck.

“This remind you of anything?”

That Ryan’s fingers don’t stop moving is more a mark of two decades of guitar playing than nerves of steel or a calm heart. Because of course Ryan’s entire body remembers. It’s all he can think about. Moonlight, sweat. Cotton beneath him, Nash above him.

Nash is playing _Emo_. Probably doesn’t even realize it. Ryan plays the Titanic song, waits for the soft kick to his hip. He switches to... Mraz. Closes his eyes.

Nash’s breath tickles his neck, his ear again. Ryan can hear the strain in Nash’s voice. The only word he hears is “later.” He doesn’t trust his own voice to reply, but he knows he doesn’t need to.

As he and Nash play parts of different songs to each other, with each other, the way they’ve done a million times, Ryan is hyper-aware of every movement Nash makes. Nash tries to get Chord to join them, not knowing about their surprise. Ryan is still kind of surprised they’ve kept it from him. It’s not every day you sneak one past Nash Overstreet.

Someone brings over beers, and Ryan sees his moment. He needs to be closer, so he settles back down on the ground between Nash’s legs, instead of to one side, his back to Nash. He takes a few sips, leaning his head back against Nash’s thigh, and sets the bottle down. 

They start playing again, Jamie and Ian joining in. Someone else has a guitar too, but between the fire and the dark and being this close to Nash again after two weeks, fuck if Ryan cares who it is. On nights like this, any night with them, anyone and everyone are free to join in. It’s what they love most, just playing. 

Again, the music just happens. Ryan doesn’t have to think about it, so he thinks about how full his life is, how full of love he is. How he thought he loved Nash before that day Nash freaked out and walked out and everything changed for the better. How now he knows he loves Nash, in all the ways you can love a person. Every breath, in and out, is like a metronome. _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

So before he knows it, it’s time. Chord is wrestling Nash’s guitar out of Nash’s hands (no mean feat), and promising not to break it, and there’s a little bit of musical chairs, and Chord is tapping out a rhythm, and they’re playing. Ryan’s eyes are open when he starts singing, but knowing it’s for Nash, knowing there’s “later,” and knowing what he wants to say, it’s too much, and his eyes squeeze shut. As Chord joins in on harmony, his voice pure and almost like Nash’s yet nothing like Nash’s, Ryan lowers his head, opens his eyes, watches Chord’s foot tapping, the twigs and dried grass on the ground. He closes his eyes again as he and Chord lay their hands over their guitars, just as they’d done over Skype, and the only sound is his own voice on the last word.

When he looks up and opens his eyes, his vision is a tunnel straight to Nash’s face across the circle. In the background, from what seems very far away, Ryan can hear cheering, but he must have tunnel hearing, too, because even from across the distance, he can hear Nash mumbling something to Amber, and then his laugh when Paul calls everyone over to the grill. 

Ryan stays where he is, grounded by the smell of the fire, the feel of the log underneath him. People are moving slowly past, colors blurring, and then Nash’s face breaks through the crowd and his hand is reaching out and taking Ryan’s. He lets himself be pulled by Nash behind the little old chicken coop/cabin. Coobin? And then Nash is spinning him around, his back against the wall of the coop, like it was against the dock that night. Ryan pushes his hands under the back of Nash’s shirt, needing skin, as Nash’s hands, trembling, pull at Ryan’s face. 

“You fucking drive me crazy,” Nash says, the words rough, like they were torn out of him. Or pushed out from the inside.

Ryan looks at Nash’s eyes, so close. His own hands start to shake as he realizes what Nash is about to say.

“Nash,” he starts. Not trying to stop Nash, but to show Nash he’s not alone.

But Nash tells him to shut up, and he does, not because he doesn’t still want to say it, and not because Nash is the boss, despite what he thinks half the time, but because Ryan knows, really knows that Nash needs to say it.

Nash’s head falls to Ryan’s shoulder, his hands are still on Ryan’s face, and it’s all Ryan can do to keep breathing. Keep holding onto Nash. He runs his hands up and down Nash’s back, still under his jacket, but over his shirt this time, smoothing, soothing.

When Nash looks up and takes a deep breath, Ryan pulls him closer, waiting.

“One of us has to be the guy to say it first.”

Ryan knows it has to be Nash. He smiles, _because_ he knows, because his own I love you can wait, and hearing Nash say those words will be worth it. He watches as Nash nods just the tiniest bit, and leans in, brushing his lips against Ryan’s. 

_And there you are_ , Ryan thinks.

When Nash finally says it, it’s so soft, Ryan can barely hear over the rush of his own blood. 

“I love you.”

He closes his eyes, his hands clenching Nash’s shirt as they kiss again. He doesn’t care that everyone else is still on the other side of this chicken coop thing, that Nash has a Boca burger cooked special waiting for him, that everyone probably knows where they are and what they’re doing. He doesn’t care. His entire world is Nash’s hands falling to his chest, his own hands on Nash’s lower back, Nash’s lips crushed against his. 

He starts to move a leg, to bring his hands down to Nash’s hips, to pull Nash even closer, when he hears their names. The gig is up. He almost laughs at the dazed look on Nashie’s face. But he doesn’t, because he’s sure his own face looks the same.

Nash kisses him again, just ducks in and presses his lips to Ryan’s quickly, making them both grin again. And Nash indicates they should go around opposite sides of the coop, bless his goddamn heart, still not letting Ryan speak, and Ryan goes along with it, knowing no one will be fooled. 

But just as Nash is about to walk around his corner, Ryan needs to say it, too. 

“Nash.”

Ryan watches Nash’s hand reach out and grab for the nearest surface, his face turning.

“I love you, too.”

Nash should have known, it should be redundant, but I love yous should never ever go unsaid or unanswered, Ryan always says. And the look on Nash’s face, half lit up by the firelight, all lit up by love given and returned, is worth it. Worth _everything_ to Ryan. Nash taps his hand against the coop, turns and walks on. 

Ryan leans his head against the rough old wood and steadies his breathing before making his own way back to the fire, and to the crowd. 

He laughs with everyone else at Chord calling them out, and at Nash blustering and being so very _Nash_. The rest of the evening is spent with their friends and family and dogs and burgers and beer. And music. Always music. 

Ryan hands over his guitar to Chord without a question, but even though he thought he could wait, he thought they’d at least got that frenzied needing-to-be-with-you-now moment out of the way, when Nash and Chord sing Journey and Ryan’s eyes catch Nash’s, it’s hard to breathe all over again.

_Later_ , just waiting for later.

***

People are starting to leave, Chord and Ian kick dirt over the fire, Jamie has been sitting on his box, but picks it up to start up the hill, and Julie is sorting through who is staying at the farm and who needs to find a ride out. Ryan gets caught talking to an old high school pal, but misses part of the conversation when Nash passes by carrying the guitars to a four-wheeler. He squeezes Ryan’s shoulder and whispers, “I’ll catch you back at my place... later.” 

Ryan shakes his head to clear it, looking back at whatever his friend’s name is. 

“I’m sorry, I missed the last thing you said,” he leans over, smiling.

His friend didn’t miss anything though, and she smiles back, saying, “Go on after your boy, Ry. We can catch up any time.”

He gives her a hug and jogs over to Jamie, taking one side of the box to help lug it up the hill to the house where Jamie will stay tonight with the Overstreets and whatever other guests are staying. When Ryan almost trips a second time, looking ahead for Nash instead of at the ground where he’s walking, his brother laughs, stopping and gently moving Ryan’s hands off the box. “I got it, brodre. Go get ‘im.”

Ryan shakes his hand into the top of Jamie’s hair, instantly smoothing it back down and kissing the top. “Love you, little brother.”

“I know,” Jamie replies, making Ryan smile at one of his favorite movie lines ever.

And then he’s forgotten Jamie and his box and his hair and even _Star Wars_. This time he concentrates on keeping one foot in front of the other as he makes the rest of his way up the walk to Nash’s apartment.

He takes the steps two at a time, stopping at the top to calm his breathing, his heart. He jumps all over the fucking stage every day for a living, so it has nothing to do with the steps, and everything to do with “later” being “now.”

As he lets himself in the door, he hears the screech of the pipes as Nash turns water off. Ryan meets him at the bathroom door, staring at the water droplets on Nash’s reddened skin. 

“You... showered?”

Nash leans against the doorjam and waves his hands as he explains. “I smelled like... campfire.”

“I like campfire,” Ryan says, low.

“I wanted to smell like... me.”

“I like you.”

Nash laughs, nearly losing his balance, and his towel. “Kinda the point. And keep it in your pants. Maybe your shower should be a cold one.”

But Ryan hasn’t been friends and bandmates with Nash for 7 years, or more than friends for the past few months, for nothing.

He crowds in, putting his hands on Nash’s skin again, fucking finally. Leaning in, leaning in _real_ close, he repeats himself, even lower, “I like you,” and nips at Nash’s jaw.

Nash sucks in a breath and reaches for Ryan, but Ryan just squeezes Nash’s sides and moves around him. Pushing Nash out of the doorway, he starts to close the door.

As Ryan turns to twist the shower knobs back on, he hears Nash mutter “fuckin’ Follese,” and grins to himself.

***

(I may or may not have paused here because even the act of “skipping over Ryan in the shower” is still actually pretty much thinking about Ryan in the shower. And then H said I had to man up and write it anyway. :sigh: And I just lost another three minutes thinking about it all over again.)

***

As steam fills Nash’s tiny bathroom again, and Ryan pushes the door closed gently on Nash’s mutterings, he lets out a breath. It’s one thing to tease Nash, and then quite another to keep playing it cool once Nash can’t see him. That first touch, real touch, of Nash’s skin in two weeks? Well, it was enough to make Ryan consider actually taking that cold shower as if he were sixteen all over again.

But he’s not, and his muscles are tired from driving and sitting on the ground and the log, so he kneels down to untie his shoes, removes them one by one, and sets them side by side on top of the toilet. Next he slips off his socks and lays them across his shoes. He unbuttons his jeans leaving them resting low on his hips, and as his shaking fingers give up on the buttons and he’s reaching back behind his head to pull off his shirt by the collar, he hears Nash’s bedsprings creak as he lies down, and then something is playing on the stereo. 

Ryan pauses, his hands still on his neck and collar. 

He remembers when Nash got that stereo. It was a Bose system, and they really didn’t have a lot of money to toss around back then, even on equipment. Ryan could only dream of the clothes and cars he might one day be able to afford, and the idea of sold out concerts seemed even more distant. But Nash had wanted, needed, that sound system. He was young, God, what was he, twenty? if that, and Nash wouldn’t think of asking his parents. And while Paul and Julie never hesitated if/when any of the kids needed something, a top of the line stereo wasn’t a necessity to anyone but Nash. So he scrimped and saved and wore the same checked black and white shirt and black jeans to every appointment and almost every dive bar that had an open mic where they went to play their crappy songs and other artists’ good songs, until he could finally afford it. 

And then the unthinkable happened: Nash’s car did everything but literally fall apart on the interstate, and he had to spend two thirds of that cash getting it running again. It was April or May, definitely not anywhere near Christmas, Nash’s birthday, any other major gift-giving holiday, or even National PB&J Day, but Ryan had been saving money, too. He couldn’t afford the set-up that Nash had his eye on, but it was a pretty good little system anyway. Ian wasn’t part of the band yet, and Jamie was what, fourteen and working his ass off every day after school on his drum set in the basement so he could one day join Miracle Drug with Ryan and Nash, but he drove up with Ryan to meet Chord when Nash was out picking up his car. They had everything set up when Nash ran up the steps and opened his door, and they were sitting around playing video games (Ryan and Chord) and rapping drum sticks against the back of the couch with headphones on (the bus monkey ;laksjdf;lkajsf or Jamie, obv).

The look on Nash’s face, all lit up, like it really WAS Christmas and his birthday and Easter and National PB&J Day too, made it all worth it. Looking back on it now, Ryan thinks that might be when he’d started falling for Nash. Not because he felt bad for Nash and decided to spend his own money on Nash’s dream, because that was the kind of shit friends did if they could especially if they were bandmates which is its own kind of brotherhood, and he knows even then that Nash would have done the same for him. And besides, Nash hadn’t let Ryan give him even a card for the next five years’ worth of holidays. 

No, it was seeing that look on Nash’s face, that unadulterated joy. The “I can’t believe you, _anyone_ , would do this for me” look. 

Ryan can’t tell what music is playing on that sound system now, but he closes his eyes and tugs on the collar of his shirt, succeeding in pulling it over his head still mostly buttoned. He shakes out his hair as he shucks his jeans and boxer briefs before walking into the shower and turning his face right up to the spray.


End file.
